


You're an urge that can never be cured

by crookedspoon



Series: Spicing up the Autumn 2017 [13]
Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, POV John Doe, Rimming, Season/Series 02, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: "I think you've earned yourself another treat, puds."





	You're an urge that can never be cured

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlsarewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/gifts).



> For "Worship" at seasonofkink bingo and Day #13 "Rimming" at Kinktober. A day late, because my update for the Arkham Knight fic threw me off-schedule. (But it was worth it.)
> 
> I know some people are not happy with how John is "Harley's bitch" in the Telltale series, but I abso-freakin-lutely love that role reversal! It's such a breath of fresh air into their dynamic. Though I sense everything is about to change once John is going to turn into the Joker by the end of the season.
> 
> This is work #407 posted to AO3, and with it, I managed to crack my 100k word count goal for this year. Hooray!

When they get back to their hideout, John is still giddy from the kiss she'd pressed on his cheek and from the pure ecstasy of giving Harley what she wants.

She is a marvel, strutting in with her mallet slung over her shoulders, and he's trying not to admire the way she sways her hips. But it's hard to look away, too.

"Puddin'?" she says and he feels light and jittery, the way he always does when Harley addresses him. "I want you in my office."

A delighted shiver grips his spine as he follows her. He relishes any moment he can spend in her presence and soaks it in like the blessing that it is.

"Good job on getting Bruce Wayne to join us," she says once the door is closed behind them.

"Oh, it was nothing," he says and runs his hand through his hair nervously. He must be sweating already. "We're pals, of course he'd want to help us."

"I think you've earned yourself another treat."

He tries not to look eager, but he's sure the huge smile on his face betrays him. He'll take anything from her, whatever it is.

She steps up to him slowly and every click of her heels is like the sweet stab of a needle into his skin. When she's about two feet away from him, she stops and holds up her palm to him. There's nothing in it for him to take, so he is confused as to what she wants him to do.

"Go on," she smiles her impish smile as she leans forward. He'd love to run his thumbs over the dimples it creates, feel out all the muscles that make up this smile. But he stops himself and curls his fingers around her wrist instead. "Take it off."

She means her glove. He's let himself be drawn in so far she can flick her middle finger under his chin. Her smile quirks and so does something inside his chest. Brushing his fingers over the ridge of her wrist, he hooks them under the edge of the glove and peels it off.

Her fingers give off a whiff of sweat and leather as they touch his lips. He swallows and breathes hard. She is teasing him and he _loves_ it, even as he's unsure how to react. He'd like to keep these gestures coming, not turn them off by putting _her_ off. And it's so easy to do, he has a knack for it.

Waiting for instructions seems that much smarter.

She runs her thumb across his bottom lip, just like he would have done given half the chance, and his mouth parts easily when she tugs it down, given how slack-jawed and in awe he is.

Pushing two fingers past his lips, she offers him her other hand to un-glove. He fumbles at it somehow, holding her wrist with one hand and tugging the glove off with another. But his real attention is with her digits in his mouth, sliding into it and tickling his tongue. He giggles, but thankfully it doesn't disturb her exploration.

With a dash of bravado, he dares close his lips around her fingers and sucks on them. Her eyes flutter shut, a movement mirrored by something inside him, fluttering and clenching. Her eyebrows knit in concentration as her fingers run along his tongue. He shudders, fingers clasping her wrist as if it was the only thing that grounded him.

"I see you can follow instructions without being told," she says, her voice breathier than usual. It's making him feel hot under his clothes. "That's good."

He's somewhat disappointed when her fingers leave his mouth, but her praise more than makes up for the loss of them. He'll just hold on to the memory. _Whatever she gives him._

She spins around on her heels and twitches her shoulders at him, spreading her hands wide. If he's not completely misreading this, she wants him to take off her cropped biker jacket next.

His hands are trembling when they do just that, take hold of the collar and slide the jacket past Harley's bare shoulders. He exhales shakily, struggling hard to keep himself from pressing a kiss to her smooth skin. He wants to inhale her scent, wants to run his mouth along her neck, his fingers into her hair. 

Anything.

He just wants her so, even if he'll never reach her.

"Didn't think I'd get ya this excited, puds."

She places her hands on either side of his face and pulls him in for a kiss. It's innocent, nowhere near as foraging as her fingers have been, and he's somewhat sad about that, but he would not dare to push his luck. She's already given him so much more than he ever dreamed he'd receive.

And this kiss... ah, it fills him with _life._

The most he allows himself is to wrap his fingers around her forearms, brushing his thumbs over the soft skin there.

She's getting bored, or impatient, or both, so she takes him by his vest and flings him into the nearest chair.

"Hoo," he breathes out like a deflating balloon, an appropriate reaction to being flung with this much intent.

He is positively _throbbing_ when she sets her heel against his chest. He looks up at her and she nods to it, so he undoes the lacing with trembling fingers. When he's finished, he holds her boot lovingly to himself so she can step out if it. He would have loved to kiss her shins, even if they're still leather-sheathed, but she pulled her leg away too quickly. It doesn't matter. As long as he can demonstrate his devotion.

She gives him another chance. This time, when he's pulled the laces out of her their holes, he takes hold of Harley's calf, tugs the boot from her foot and presses a kiss to her knee.

That earns him a giggle. It's worth everything, he thinks.

"I like it when you look at me like this," she says and pulls him from the chair. "Don't ever stop."

He thinks she's going to kiss him now, for real this time, and he can't help the big grin that is stretching his lips wide, making it harder to _actually_ kiss. But that's not what she's doing anyway, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

He decides to remain cautiously hopeful and just a little excited when she pushes him onto her bed.

He had been studiously ignoring the mattress in the corner of her office, because if he so much as acknowledged its existence, he would get lost in his imagination of her lying under those covers, naked perhaps. But even if not, she would be sleep-soft and dream-kissed, and he so wants to witness her like that, would stay up all night if he had to, no big deal, as long as he got to watch her breathe in deeply, softly, undisturbed. He'd make sure her sleep would be undisturbed, if only so he could continue watching her.

So she has pushed him onto her mattress, and he's sitting on it stiffly, craning his neck to look at her, hands fisting her bedding tightly. He keeps his face slack, admiring, wide-eyed and as innocent as it can get, so as not to appear as if he had any sort of expectations of her. He doesn't.

Even if she were to call it all off now, he'd understand. He'd go back to his Ha-Hacienda, curl up on the floor and bathe himself in the memories of this. But he would not badger her to give him any more. She's already given him more than he deserves, and he could not be happier.

Unless, of course, she were to give him more than this, but he cannot be greedy. He's not sure his heart could take it, anyway.

She is certainly trying him.

She forces him onto his back with her foot, then undoes her pants. He doesn't quite see it from his vantage point, but the mere susurrating of her zipper has his spine go straight. He does not cup himself to relieve the pressure in his pants, or hide the obvious sight of it from her. This is a salutation; he has to believe she would see it as such. He means no disrespect. He would never.

His hands tremble by his sides as she shimmies out of her leather pants. The scent wafting to him is similar to the one he sniffed when he took of her gloves. But this time, the sweet smell of _her_ is mixed into it, and he grabs the sheets hard so he wouldn't touch himself.

He imagines that her panties are glistening with her essence, imagines that he's allowed to run his fingers through them to feel her excitement.

His own excitement is too obvious to deny, but thankfully, she ignores it.

"You've been doing so well, Johnnie," she says, and her praise makes his tension melt. "Do you want to be an even better boy for mama?"

He nods, laughing quietly, not trusting himself to speak. There's no question about it. Of course he would do whatever he could to please her.

"Good."

As soon as she's said it, she swings her leg over his head and settles on his face. She's still wearing her panties, but it doesn't matter, her scent fills his nostrils until she pinches them together.

His mouth falls open, panting for breath, and she uses this chance to bestow him with that most heavenly of parts she has to offer. _Every_ part of her is heavenly, yet he had presumed this one to stay locked to him, so he cherishes it all the more.

His eyes roll into the back of his head the moment she sits down on his face.

This must be his luckiest day ever. She smells divine, and he is ready to be a sacrifice at her altar.

He works his tongue against her, extracting as much of her taste as he can from the cloth that still separates him from her holiest of holes. How he'd love to bury his tongue in it as far as it would go, how he'd love to finger her and disintegrate into that otherworldly feel of her.

Still, he does what he can, what she allows him to do, and her delighted squeaks are payment enough. She rubs herself against his face, cants her hips so his nose would brush her jewel and her wet lips would grind over his stiff tongue. He can't help himself, he's greedy for her taste and so it snakes out of his mouth, slippery and long and as hard as he can make it.

She seems to like it, at least he hopes she does. She's grabbing fistfuls of his hair and riding his face as if tomorrow would never come.

He feels used. He's never felt better. 

Her moans in his ears are everything he needs. He's barely aware of his own erection straining in his pants.

His scalp throbs by the time she's through with him, throwing her head back and letting out the cutest squeal he's ever heard. She trembles above him, riding out the aftershocks.

He starts quivering himself, as laughter overtakes him, and joy. So much joy. An idea manifests itself in his head, urging him to pin her onto her back, to strip her naked and penetrate her, to take everything because now that she's given him a taste, he knows it will never be enough.

But it is. It _is._

His exhale is loud in his ears. Yes, he _aches_ to penetrate her, but he would never touch her without her express permission. Or would he?

The temptation is there, with her panting on top of him, letting her guard down because he's proved he could behave himself.

But does he want to? Does _she_ want him to?

He cannot believe that she'd want a brainless follower, who'd do her bidding without a question, without a thought to the contrary. And he knows he himself couldn't be that follower, no matter how much he wanted to be.

Because a follower is not an equal, a follower is not worthy of love, and that is what he wants to be: something memorable, if not an equal then at least something more than a spineless bootlicker. He'd lick her boots, all right, but he wants her to know that it's his choice, his love for her that compels him to.

So when she settles back, he takes his chance. He hooks his fingers over the hem of her panties and drags them over her hips. She eyes him over her heaving chest, but lifts her hips to let him pull them out of the way.

Perhaps she has her own version of what he's going to do in her mind, and in case it overlaps with what he was thinking of, he obliges her, sets his tongue to her core and _tastes._

It's so much more powerful than the mere idea she'd given him through the soaked fabric of her panties. She's smooth and delicious and he cannot believe this is happening.

It takes no time at all for her to jerk against his mouth again, and he feels blessed to be able to make her feel his way. Anything that would make her love him more.

She is pliable when he turns her onto her stomach. His breath comes out stuttering. He really ought to thank Bruce the next time he saw him, for making him look good in front of her. He'd never have been allowed this close if not for him.

So he flicks his tongue over her twitching flower again, slides it inside of her and works his lips around it. Just to get her distracted enough for his next step. He wants it to be a surprise.

He drags his tongue through her from clit to opening, and her every reaction to it is adorable. He just wants to chase it until she can't help but scream from the pleasure. Scream or whimper or plead him to stop. They all sound like such worthy goals.

But he has another thing in mind.

Finally, he drags his tongue further back, across the warm skin of her back hole. It flutters as he flicks his tongue against it again, to a wet moan from Harley, indicating that she's not disinclined to this.

It makes him happy, makes him want to please her more, now that she's allowed him this close to her most private parts.

He couldn't be more in love with her, he thinks, couldn't be more willing to do whatever it takes to preserve this kind of confidence.

Once he thinks he's gotten her used to the idea, he firms up his tongue and works it inside of her. Her hips push back against him, driving him deeper.

It's strange how he thinks of Bruce Wayne again as he's tonguing her open, but perhaps his subconscious wants to remind him who he's got to thank for getting him into Harley's pants.

He stabs his tongue into her with relish until she comes again, strangled cries and all. He relieves some of his own pressure by rubbing himself against the edge of the mattress.

"You naughty boy," she says, as soon as her speech tract is functioning enough to let her be coherent once more. Her hair is tousled and her makeup smudged, but she looks pleased. "I like it."

She drags her thumb over his chin, wiping off some of her essence, then slides it into his mouth. He sucks on it weakly. His jaw is aching.

"You may go take care of that now, if you wanna." She grins and wiggles her fingers in the direction of his nether regions.

"I can't stay here?" he asks, swallowing his disappointment. He shouldn't be disappointed in the first place. She has let him taste her. That should be enough. (For now, a voice from a darker corner of his mind adds.)

"Mama needs to get ready for the operation tonight, and so should you."

He should be used to her rejection by now, but it stings all the more now that she'd gotten his hopes up. 

"Toodles."

That's as much as slamming the door in his face, and he retreats, like a wounded dog, and part of him is wounded. But no. He shouldn't see this as rejection. Perhaps she wants to keep the excitement alive.

He touches himself alone in his own cot and waits for the night, Harley's taste still on his tongue, reliving what has happened and pre-living perhaps what might happen some other time.

He ought to seek out Bruce later, to thank him for this. He really owes him one.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from song "Trust Me" from The Devil's Carnival.
> 
> Tumblr post for reblogging convenience can be found [here](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/166408286160/kinktober-day-13-rimming). Come say hi, I need more friends in the fandom :) Also feel free to check out my [prompts tag](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/tagged/prompts) if you want me to write more of this pairing.


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